


The Four Kings

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Blasphemy, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Divinity Kink, Love, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Sexual Content, mofu bingo 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29752890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which there is still so much of Aziraphale to see, and Crowley is more than willing to look.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 313
Collections: MoFu Bingo 2021, Top Crowley Library





	The Four Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Monster Fucker Bingo prompt #4 Monster Bottom Rights

The bed belongs to the both of them now.

Though Crowley still has trouble with the concept sometimes, with Aziraphale naked in a tangle of sheets, with the warmth of him under Crowley's hands and over the cradle of his hips. To see him like this, making soft noises into his mouth while Crowley's hand works between his widespread thighs, two fingers inside him, curling and stretching in gentle but eager pushes.

"I felt you last time." He doesn't care how shaky his voice is, they're still so new at this, still so bewitched by each other. "I felt the edges of you."

Aziraphale presses down, leaves Crowley's fingers sinking in to the last knuckle, touching him from the inside. He chokes a noise and kisses the stretch of the angel's throat, feels the vibration of his moan.

"Yes," Aziraphale agrees on a breath, the lines of his nails digging into Crowley's back in a way that says without words how much he _wants._ "I didn't mean to, I couldn't help myself."

That sounds far too much like an apology for Crowley's taste.

"No." He turns until he can press his head to the angel's, closer than anyone has ever wanted to be, or been willing to get, to his eyes. "It was good, it was perfect, angel, you felt like a thunderstorm. I've always loved the taste of you, you know that." Crowley threads the fingers of one hand through the curls of Aziraphale's hair while the fingers of the other slide out of him, three pushing back inside instead - and oh, to feel Aziraphale's thighs tremble around him when he finds the right place to touch. "Was beautiful, you almost made me lose my mind. Want to see you like that. I know you've thought about it too." It's gentle, always gentle, he never wants to make it sound like a temptation, doesn't want to be greedy - even though he wants - wants so much he's forgotten how to do anything else. "You could, if you wanted to, we could - we could have sex like that."

Aziraphale's whole body presses down into him, and the breath that falls out of him is shaky with arousal. Crowley can't help himself, he's sliding his hand free and fisting his cock, guiding the angel's hips down where he's flushed and hard and aching for him. He feels that slippery clench of muscle resist him briefly, before the angel stretches open around him, buttocks spread, balls hanging heavy, solid thighs folding as he sinks.

Beautiful, beautiful.

" _Crowley_."

He's never prepared for it - for the heat of him, for the way his mouth goes soft, lips wet, the curves of his body fitting into the angles of his own as he moans and reaches for him. They kiss their way through the tremors of it. Being joined is still so overwhelming. This impossible, unthinkable thing they've done together - that they do together. It was always a risk, they could have destroyed each other, their divine and occult energies clashing in ways they couldn't hope to predict. But they fit together so well that the join fades away.

"Show me," Crowley bites out, mouth flaring heat over Aziraphale's.

The angel astride him gives a wet gasp when Crowley's hips roll him in deeper, seat the angel more firmly on the thrust of his cock.

"I know you want to," he urges, hands gripping the angel tight, helpless not to rock gently up into him. "I know you've been holding back. You think I could ever love you less? You think I could see the terrible, beautiful glory of you and do anything but love you?" He doesn't mean it to be so fierce, doesn't mean to love him so much that it's almost a fury sometimes.

But Aziraphale's whole body trembles, a whine straining from his throat.

"You won't hurt me," Crowley tells him. "I've felt you - I've been inside you - I know you want to touch me too. Come on, angel, come out for me."

Aziraphale exhales a breath, thighs tensing and flexing as he moves, as he rises and then sinks, teeth in his lip, eyes wide in his face. Until something in his expression cracks and he finally surrenders.

He presses Crowley down to the bed, the strength of his hands incredible.

The angel's soft, perfect body turns to marble, lines of gold spilling through the curves of it like rivers. They twist and shine like flames, branching outwards to reach every part of his skin. The air in the room is displaced abruptly by four white wings opening behind him, unfolding into the world and spreading in a wave that expands the room and sends books and paintings clattering down. They fill the space, fill more than the space, reality curving around the mass of them, the edges sparking and spilling grace.

Aziraphale's face splinters into bright light - shifts as if four was one all along. Layered and overlapping.

The roaring mouth of a lion opens, never-tamed, majestic and furious, and Crowley can feel the echo of claws and teeth sinking into the essence of him. Deep enough to puncture, deep enough to keep hold of him, but never deep enough to wound.

_Mine. You are mine and no one else's. Never. Let them try, let them, let them._

Crowley's breath shakes its way out of him, and for a moment he struggles to draw in another. He feels the words on his skin more than hears them. Not just a single voice but a chorus speaking as one. His heels drag in the sheets, pulling up to brace the angel's back. The heat inside Aziraphale burns, the weight of his body now holy in a way that stings.

Aziraphale's form shifts again, one face moving aside for another, until the heavy shape of an ox head rests atop the angel's neck. The obedient stare seems at odds with the vast horns rising skyward to scrape sparking golden grooves in the ceiling, as his body rolls and presses down and _loves_ him. The toes that were curled tight in the sheets are now brassy hooves, the solid heavy shape of them deathly cold against the sides of Crowley's thighs.

_I am yours. Always yours. Command me. Bid me. Keep me. Love me._

All the breath stops in Crowley's throat, expands there and aches.

"Aziraphale."

A gasp and the angel cracks open wider - an arc of rotating, flaming wheels spiralling into reality around him. Crowley is pinned by a hundred thousand points of focus, every mote of him watched and weighed and measured. The air in the room shimmers from the heat of them, from their frantic ceaseless spinning.

Crowley hears himself cry out as that heat licks at his body, tendrils of fire and ethereal will leaving his skin lashed red, every part of him trembling as the angel moves over him. He pushes up and gasps, grits his teeth and holds on.

Aziraphale moans like he never intended the flaming circles to manifest, didn't mean to spill so much of his naked self into the world. 

Crowley catches his hips, feels the marble of him soften just for him, just for him, _only for him_. The weight of the angel - of everything he is - lifts and sinks, every rolling push into him sending sparks through Crowley's body.

The angel is a temple.

_I have been sent to worship thee._

He bites down on the words, on the blasphemy of it.

"That's it, that's it," Crowley croaks, uncertain if what he's feeling is pain or bliss. "There you are, beautiful thing." Terrifying, glorious, exquisite, his in every way that matters.

The angel's face snaps instantly into the visage of an eagle, feathers melting into his shoulders, beak cracking wide in a scream.

_I see you. I have always seen you. I have known you. I have hidden you. I see everything we could be and I choose you._

Crowley sees it too, he does, he chose so long ago, and it was years before he realised. He grips the angel tight, feels the stinging gold inside him spill over his fingers and down his wrists. A holiness that burns sweet rivers of fire across his skin.

_Holy. Holy. Holy._

Aziraphale's wings pull forward and then back, sinking him down more firmly onto Crowley's cock in a hard swaying rhythm, taking everything he has to give. Crowley has to throw his head back, choke a breath and grip tight, clawing desperately at the edges of himself just to hold his body together. To stop himself shattering, or sinking in, coiling around, piercing through the angel - who doesn't stop but keeps going. The gold of his eagle eyes staring down at Crowley in a way that feels _scouring_ as he lifts and sinks, rolls and pushes, takes him impossibly unfathomably deep.

"Aziraphale." Crowley chokes the word out, the sound of it ringing in the room like a bell. He repeats it, soft and helpless, as if it might save him, as if it might give him everything he's ever wanted.

The feathers come apart, burn in the air, leave Aziraphale's face behind, his beautiful, familiar, well-loved face, panting down at him. Though his eyes still shine gold, his pale hair outlined in the light from a perfect spinning circle - that Crowley remembers the weight of.

"I love you," Aziraphale says simply, with a rawness that makes Crowley's chest hurt. "I love you, I've loved you for so long."

Crowley pushes himself up, gathers Aziraphale's face, his hair, his body and kisses him. He slides his hands over Aziraphale's shoulders and buries them in the naked spread of feathers, fingers closing in the vulnerable depths of his wings. Aziraphale's whole body jerks like he'd set him alight, his primary wings opening wide, exposing everything to Crowley's touch. He groans into the kiss and his secondary wings pull in, enfold them both in an intimacy that shakes the core of Crowley to pieces.

Aziraphale's mouth burns.

It burns and it's _glorious_.

He feels the angel come apart, feels the room shake, feels Aziraphale's true essence fracture and melt in bliss -

Eventually they both come down again.

The bed is smoking gently beneath them, though Crowley suspects he's the one who caused that. He may have gotten a little hot in self defence.

The angel is sprawled over his chest, all soft curves and pink toes again, the warmth of his panting mouth tucked into Crowley's neck. Though if Crowley squints he can see the fading outline of feathers, of ox horns and many-eyed wheels.

He drags sharp fingers through Aziraphale's hair, feeling his skin tingling like he'd been electrocuted. The angel smells like a summer thunderstorm under the dry smoulder of Crowley's own scent.

"We're probably going to get in trouble for that," Aziraphale says quietly. "Slipping your corporation off in general is frowned upon but making it -" He gives a pleased, breathy laugh. "Making its atoms split apart in divine ecstasy is probably going to cause a bit of a ruckus upstairs."

The angel's clearly expecting a reply to that, a laugh, or a teasing comment. But Crowley hasn't quite come down yet. His whole body is warm and heavy, but his insides are still shaking, still ringing in strange ways from the edges of Aziraphale's essence seeping into him. The way they'd felt together - the temptation to slip free and join him -

The angel pushes himself up onto an elbow to see his face, and Crowley is never going to get used to the soft, bare curves of his shoulders, the pink rise of his nipples, the gentle rolls of his hips. There's still so much that leaves Crowley lost for words. Aziraphale's hair is fluffy and wild when it's sex-rumpled, and the newness of that knowledge is so sweet it almost hurts.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Aziraphale asks.

"No," Crowley says, quick and certain. "No, course not, angel, I'm just still a bit drunk with it, to be honest."

Aziraphale's expression shades into something strangely shy. "It was an incredible experience. And I would, of course, be amenable if you wanted to - if you were comfortable showing me yourself like that." It's offered slowly, and a little nervously. As if he fully expects the answer to be no.

Crowley waits for the instinctive distaste, waits for his mind to recoil from the idea. But it doesn't happen. The thought of being naked for Aziraphale, all the scales and scars and sharp edges of him. The serpent coils and sulphur-burned wings. Nothing left of his spinning flames but charred edges and smoke.

Instead of horror there's just a quiet yearning.

Because where has he ever belonged if not with Aziraphale?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Four Kings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821515) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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